There was a boy
by Not-Quite-Shakespeare
Summary: 10/22. Chapter 8 posted. The story of Moulin Rouge, told completely through Christian's eyes, providing certain comedic values at multiple points in the storyline. Remember to review!
1. Prologue/The Importance of Being Earnest

**Disclaimer** --  
  
I own none of the characters portrayed in the film _Moulin Rouge_ and therefore, own none of the characters portrayed in this fan fiction. They are all owned, protected, and copyrighted to 20th Century Fox and the one and only Baz Luhrmann and company.   
  
The following fan fiction is the exact same story as what was seen and heard in _Moulin Rouge_. The only difference is that I have taken the time to novelize the story in a point-of-view form. That is, you will find the entire story told from Christian's point of view, pinpointing his emotions, thoughts on particular matters, and inevitable confusion and sadness in certain parts. I originally sought out to write the book that Christian wrote in the movie, but after realizing a few unexplainable discrepancies, chose to write the 'fic the way I did.   
  
If you have no desire to read _Moulin Rouge_ strictly through Christian's eyes, click the little 'x' in the corner of this window now.   
  
A very close friend of mine (my friend, muse, and so much more), Crystal, is/has writing/written a sister-fiction to this one, her 'fic being told through the point-of-view of Satine, which makes a comical read, seeing both of their thoughts on certain aspects. I highly suggest you read it, being that she's an excellent author and has the character of Satine down pat. (Pst! The 'fic's name is "_Daughter of the Underworld_")   
  
All thanks and dedications go out to her for her unfaltering devotion and assistance with my writing this piece of fiction. I don't know where I'd be without her.   
  
Feel free to review, though try and be constructive, not destructive.   
  
-- Not Quite Shakespeare   
  
  
**Prologue** -- "The Importance of Being _Earnest_"   
  
Never, in all my life, was the word "normal" utilized in retrospect to myself, and as the eldest son of an upper class, English banker at the turn of the century and the final stages of the Victorian Era, the absence of the very foundation of English values (normality, tradition, cogentincy) was perhaps the worst burden a boy like myself could don.   
  
Although I have no particular memory of unhappiness during my childhood years, I distinctly recollect certain comments, even arguments between my parents about my habits and preferences. My father could not understand that, rather than rushing to the playground to rough house with the other boys after classes, I would come straight home, perch myself in an old oak tree and watch London slow down for the day. Even during my lessons, my head was constantly turned toward a window, and it was common occurrence to receive a cuff on the ears or wrists by my teachers for "daydreaming."   
  
My mother, the kind, understanding soul that she was, merely told my father that I was something of a "nature boy;" one who preferred the outdoors to the stuffy, British life, but she was only partly correct. The truth was that even from a very young age (the furthest I can recollect being three), while my body was still developing and I was "supposed to be getting into trouble and being a boy to get rid of those childish impulses before having to grow up," I was developing much differently from most boys in upper London.   
  
I saw everything through a pair of very different eyes. Where other children were seeing black and white, and hearing and responding to the monotony of common British society, I rejected such "negative" progress toward the minds of the adults. To me, things were starkly different; I saw in vibrant colors and heard the beauty in all sounds of the living. Everywhere I went, there was poetry behind the simplest of actions and song in everything representative of truth, beauty, freedom, and more importantly than all, love.   
  
In my little world, the hills were alive with the sound of music, and the Earth truly was a canvas upon which God painted his greatest work. I, for one, was not going to jeopardize an instant to allow myself to fall into the adult world, else risk my grip on my beautiful reality.   
  
During the first six years of my life, things continued along that way rather regularly. I remained firmly rooted in my perfect world (where wrongs were always righted and love always prevailed), my father did not approve, and my mother defended me, as well as scolded my father for attempting to destroy something that she called my "beautiful naiveté." Things changed drastically for the worse, however, with the birth of my little sister.   
  
I had brothered two siblings prior to her, both of which died in the early months of life, something that was unfortunately commonplace. What was so different about her birthing was the fact that there were complications and my mother passed away during it. I was shocked, broken, and for a few weeks, the colors before me dulled, and for a good period of time, I considered allowing them to fade to black and white as my father so desperately wanted. My father was heartbroken and drove himself into his work at a frightening pace, one that left me at home with my little sister for hours on end. It was gradually in her presence, marveling at the small life so dependent on others for her protection, that I found my footing again. I made up nursery rhymes and countless songs, and although to this day she can't remember but the notes hummed, with her nurturing, I healed.   
  
My father was hardly as lucky. Without my mother's kind interference, he openly struck out at my individualism, insisting that I ground myself and become prepared for taking over operating of the bank. I needed to learn the art of "being earnest," a trait that I apparently lacked. He pulled me out of the final years of school during adolescence and forced me into internship under him. It was during those years that I learned an intense hatred for enclosed spaces, bills, and counting money.   
  
By the time I turned twenty and my father was all but ready to retire and turn his position over to me, I had been swept up in an art movement known as the Bohemian Revolution. Despite my having been trapped in a bank, slaving my years away, since my early teens, I had bent little to my father's wishes. I saved my money (rather than contributing it to the family as my father expected me to) and purchased an Underwood typewriter, the best of its kind, and announced my desire to become a writer.   
  
My father was not pleased.   
  
Imagine his annoyance upon my twenty-first birthday, a mere three days before he was scheduled to resign from his business and I was to be commissioned to his position, when I packed my bags and proudly brandished a ferry and train ticket, both of which would get me eventually to the small village of Montmartre in Paris, France.   
  
My father condemned such an action, claiming the village to be "a village of sin," but I knew better. It was the center of the Bohemian world, home to musicians, writers, and painters, all of which were called the "Children of the Revolution." I was to be a part of them and write about the very ideals of the Bohemian movement; truth, beauty, freedom, and love.   
  



	2. The Children of the Revolution

  
  
The train ride into Paris was interesting, to say the least. I originally told myself that I would take out my typewriter and start writing during the ride, but that notion was quickly dismissed when I was seated next to a fairly large German woman who spoke no English and seemed content to take up not only all of her seat, but a third of mine, as well. Fortunately, I was not claustrophobic and spent the time (as aversive as it was) with my face all but pressed to my window, watching the countryside roll by. She was friendly enough and attempted conversation, but my knowledge of the German language was scant at best, and for the most part, our conversation consisted of little more than her speaking and me nodding my head, pretending I knew what was being said.   
  
Needless to say, I was a bit over-zealous to get off the train when we finally reached our destination, a small station about two miles west of Montmartre. I tipped my hat to my riding partner, gathered my belongings (consisting of no more than a single bag and my typewriter), and hired a buggy to take me into Montmartre.   
  
My father's "village of sin" was, in my mind, far from it. Certainly, it had its fair share of loiterers, riff-raff, drunks, and scoundrels, but what city in modern Europe did not? The streets were alive with clamor and music, the taverns full with lively occupants, and I was even greeted by a trio of ladies on a street corner. Their attire was slightly more revealing than I was used to, and a few of their choices in words were -- well, rather risqué, but they seemed of the polite sort.   
  
I took everything in with an optimistic stride and continued until, with the help of a few random individuals, I came to a particular housing complex, "Chambres La Journée." I was informed that the complex, although one of the older ones in Montmartre, was one of the most reliable in landowning and it's placement (directly in the center of the bustling village) seemed the perfect place for a starting writer to be.   
  
It took little haggling to secure the room I wanted; a fairly large one that was well away from ground level, with a window and a view. I didn't quite understand why it came at such a cheap rental price, and upon inquiring, the landowner merely stated that I would have a rather loud group of neighbors upstairs, something to which I wasn't exactly disappointed in. I'd never had trouble sleeping through ruckus in the past, anyway.   
  
She showed me to my room that, although lacking the cleanliness and strength of decoration that my home in London had possessed, was all that I had hoped it to be. The main room was large and broke off into the bedroom to the left. From the bedroom, a balcony extended out to the side of the main building. A small kitchenette was attached to the main room's southwest corner to the far left of the door, and directly north of the doorway was a large window which opened out over the Montmartre city streets.   
  
I was immediately taken with the view my window afforded and, upon receiving my key from the landlady and seeing her safely out the door, the paneled opening was my first point of inspection. Below, a single street stretched around the side of the building and that street was met with a paved sidewalk. The sidewalk itself led north and was shrouded in well-kept trees. Following that walkway with my gaze, it was only then that I noted the peculiar trio of buildings directly in front of my room. The first of the three was a large building that, if looked at correctly, gave an astonishing resemblance to an elephant. I passed it off as a trick of lighting and turned to the next two buildings that, upon further inspection, proved to be one large one. The top portion was a fully functioning windmill with a large sign across it that read "Moulin Rouge." The building below it was far less extravagant; it was simply enormous.   
  
My father had mentioned "Moulin Rouge" prior to my leaving London, describing it as Paris' worst and most infamous bordello, a hive for the creatures of the Bohemian underworld. He proceeded to tell me that I would end up wasting my life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer, but the warning had fallen on deaf ears.   
  
Paris' worst and most infamous bordello, sitting basically in my backyard. Although no particular amount of excitement was instilled in me at such a realization, it did provide a small amount of curiosity, as well as hope that my strategic location midst true Bohemians would help stimulate me as a writer.   
  
I remained poised at the window for all of perhaps ten minutes, watching scattered individuals bustle along the street below me in thoughtful silence, until with a painful jolt back into reality, my stomach rumbled. I'd been out of London for but a day, and had barely managed to secure my home and I was already nearly out of funds. Such a realization brought me about to the fact that I'd need to write just to eat and with that drive firmly implanted in the back of my mind, it took little further motivation to push me away from the window and to the small table in the main room at which I'd set my typewriter.   
  
A few minutes later found me stationed pensively before the polished Underwood, fingers settling on the keys in thought. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and that which I believe in above all things. Love.   
  
There was only one problem. I'd never been in love.   
  
I was pondering that drawback when, with a reverberating crack and a cloud of dust, a hole about three feet in diameter was broken in the center of my ceiling. Reasonably startled, I staggered back out of my seat just in time to witness the sight of a body toppling through the newly created hole. The frame belonged to a large Argentinean who, at the time, happened to be dressed in a bright red jumpsuit that looked as if it came directly out of a circus arena. During the fall, he must have gotten tangled in electric wires, for he never quite hit my floor. Instead, he dangled upside down, eyes closed as though he was dead.   
  
My mouth must have fallen agape at the sight, because when I went to open it to speak something, it was already nearly touching my chest. Stammering, I had nearly managed to question the man's well being when my front door opened with a great deal of force, its handle slamming into the wall adjacent it.   
  
Startled again, I jumped, attention pivoting on the cause of the door's opening. What I saw merely drew more startled silence from me. Standing in my doorway, looking quite ridiculous, stood a dwarf of a man that happened to be wearing an outfit even more distracting than that of the Argentinean's. He was dressed as a _nun_.   
  
The dwarf spoke before I could question his presence, cutting me off with a rather high-pitched, lisped voice that only added to the absurdity of the moment.   
  
"How do you do?" he asked, raising a small cane with a hand and twirling it before his face in a rather amazing display of dexterity. "My name is Henri de Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Montfa." The cane was set to the floor and, with its help, he maneuvered himself within my apartment entirely, crossing to the Argentinean whom he promptly patted on the chest, causing another cloud of dust to raise. The Argentinean didn't stir.   
  
"I'm terribly sorry about all this," the dwarf continued to explain. "We were just upstairs rehearsing a play." He ventured from there to tell me that the play itself was very modern, titled _Spectacular, Spectacular_.   
  
"...and it's set in Switzerland!" The short man concluded, apparently proud to be a member of such a production.   
  
I was still trying to process all of the information, a hesitant glance turning on the seemingly dead Argentinean.   
  
The dwarf must have read into my discomfort and hurried to set my mind at ease by informing me that the Argentinean (who actually wasn't dead, but asleep) suffered from a sickness called narcolepsy.   
  
"Perfectly fine one moment, then," he explained, then, with an overly animated imitation of snoring, continued. "-- suddenly unconscious the next."   
  
Eventually coming to terms with the onslaught of information, I took a reluctant step toward the sleeping Argentinean and was almost hit on the head with a glass that fell from the hole in the ceiling overhead.   
  
"How is he?" A voice exclaimed from above me. The voice itself startled me into recoiling, a motion that brought me out of the way of the falling glass mere instants before it hit the ground and shattered. Mouth agape, I tilted my head upward to find three faces looming in the hole, peering down on the Argentinean.   
  
The first of the three, I admit, I could not distinguish to be male or female. His dark hair was cropped short around the chin, but was easily long enough to belong to a female, and his feminine features were covered in poorly applied make-up. The fact that he sported several gaudy necklaces only furthered my confusion and it wasn't until he spoke that I could make an educated guess to his gender, that being male.   
  
"Wonderful," he muttered in disgust. "Now that the narcoleptic Argentinean is _unconscious_... Therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow!"   
  
A second voice shifted my attention first to the next head to the left of the make-up wearing man. An older man with glasses and an enormous, graying beard was staring at me with a discomforting, drunken grin, but his lips weren't moving. It couldn't have been him.   
  
My gaze wandered at that to the third and final of the strange Bohemians, a skinny man whose head happened to be completely bald. Although dressed the most "normal" out of the entire bunch, his head, as well as the quadruple-lensed glasses that he wore certainly made him stand out. They were all strange.   
  
"Right, Toulouse," the bald man chimed in, apparently addressing the dwarf. "I still have to finish the music."   
  
Patiently, the dwarf shook his head up toward the trio. "Well, just find someone to read the part."   
  
The gaudily dressed make-up wearer seemed exasperated at such a notion. "Oh, where in heaven's name are we going to find someone to read the role of a young, sensitive, Swiss, poet goat-herder?"   
  
At such a question, all eyes turned on me. All I could do was gawk. 


	3. The hills are alive...

I was quick to learn that the attic of the building in which I was staying had been rented out to my newly made Bohemian friends and they had converted it into something of a studio. All of the furniture (what little of it that there was) lined the wall and was all situated on the southern side. The northern half was cluttered with various stage props, a bed (upon which we'd set the unconscious Argentinean), an enormous organ and various other music instruments, and a few chairs. Set up against the far wall was an elaborate mountain backdrop that served as the Alps, along with ladders that were in the places where, on stage, mountains that the actors could climb on would be.   
  
I'd been forced to change into a tight set of brown trousers with suspenders, as well as a hat that was much too small for my head, complete with a feather (the costume that the Argentinean would be wearing during performances), handed a script, and told to climb atop the tallest ladder.   
  
I'd obeyed with a certain degree of stupefied reluctance, too morbidly fascinated with the group, as well as interested in the modern play that they spoke of to actually deny them. Precariously balanced atop my ladder, cringing was all I could do to prevent reaching to cover my ears as the bald man (whose name I learned to be Satie) sat at the oversized organ and began to play.   
  
That was Toulouse's cue and he was prompt to waddle down from his perch within the "mountains" to begin to sing with the music. "The hills animate with the euphonious symphonies of --"   
  
"Stop, stop, stop!" It was Audrey, the man I'd almost mistaken as a woman, whom I'd learned to be the show's writer and director. He was stationed just outside of the set and had, with his high-pitched voice, managed to gain the attention of musician and singer alike. Although I'd known the man for but a short time, my respect for him only increased with appreciation when his raving caused the music and off-key singing to halt simultaneously.   
  
Audrey pushed away from his seat, moving to Satie and his organ, apparently annoyed. "That insufferable droning is drowning out my words! Can't we please just stick to a little decorative piano?"   
  
There seemed to be artistic differences over Audrey's lyrics to Satie's song, sparking an argument that all four of the conscious Bohemians were quick to jump in on.   
  
"I don't think a nun would say that about a hill," stated the Doctor (even to this day, I can't recollect learning his name), taking time out from drinking the mysterious green liquid in the bottle he constantly carried around to make his opinion known.   
  
"What if he says," Satie was quick to interject over the Doctor's voice. "...the hills are vital intoning the --"   
  
I couldn't quite make out how he finished the lyrics, being that Toulouse's higher-pitched voice easily made itself audible over Satie's, which caused the Doctor to raise his voice, if only to combat Toulouse's. Before I knew it, the Doctor, Satie, and Toulouse were all speaking as loudly as they could, attempting to piece together a string of lyrics that fit the music.   
  
Suddenly, the Argentinean seemed to awake with a start, popping out of bed long enough to put his two cents in. "The hills are enchanted with symphonic melodies!"   
  
In all truths, I found his to be the best yet. Unfortunately, at the completion of his statement, he fell unconscious again, collapsing into a heap across the bed. Everyone had gone silent at the sound of his throaty voice, but upon his lapsing back into sleep, the Bohemians all breathed a simultaneous "Nah.." and continued with the argument.   
  
It was at that point that it struck me. Straightening on my ladder, I tried to speak over the crowd, but they weren't exactly listening. "The... the hills --"   
  
Frowning, I waved my arms carefully through the air (not wanting to risk causing myself to fall from my perch), speaking up again. "The hills are -- "   
  
Still, they continued arguing, ignoring my suggestion. Finally, fed up with the argument, I rose my voice over their voices by simply projecting it into song, following the music Satie had laid out before with Toulouse's voice, but improvising my own lyrics. "_The hills are alive with the sound of music!_"   
  
When I stopped singing, I noted the fact that the argument had ceased altogether, and the four Bohemians were staring at each other in silence, though I couldn't tell if it was horror or awe that compelled them to do so.   
  
Another sudden lurch from the Argentinean drew all of our attention toward him to find him standing again, walking toward the group of us. "The hills are alive with the sound of music!!" Both hands were raised to his lips exuberantly, after which he proceeded to blow a kiss into the air. "I love it!" I couldn't have been more relieved.   
  
At the Argentinean's approval, all of the Bohemians except for Audrey turned to face me, grinning in that drunken way that I was learning to associate with all of them. I offered an offhanded smile, shrugging.   
  
"The hills are alive," The Doctor repeated, mulling the words over.   
  
"..._with the sound_," continued Toulouse.   
  
"..._of music_." Finished Satie, leaning close to his organ and hitting a key to make sure it was in the right key signature. Smiling, he sat upright again, glancing toward me. "It fits perfectly."   
  
Taking the unconditional positive regard well, I loosened up a bit, leaning out on my ladder to motion with my script in emphasis before singing out again. "_With songs they have sung for a thousand years!_" Rather than wait self-consciously for their response to that line, I rose my brows in question, grinning.   
  
Toulouse gasped as if he'd been struck with lightning, reaching toward me. "Incandiferous!" Turning slightly on his heel, he glanced toward Audrey, adding meekly with a minor gesture toward me. "Audrey, you two should write the show together."   
  
Audrey was seemingly taken aback by the suggestion, raising a hand to his ear as he leaned forward as if he hadn't heard correctly. "I beg your pardon?"   
  
Toulouse's suggestion that Audrey and I write the show together was not what Audrey wanted to hear.   
  
"Good-bye!" Audrey shouted appallingly as he slammed the door to the studio closed and left us all standing there, gaping after him.   
  
Toulouse was the first of us to recover, raising a glass to me as he helped himself to the Doctor's bottle of green liquor. "Here's to your first job in Paris."   
  
"But, Toulouse," it was Satie, leaning toward him and lowering his voice. "Do you think Zidler will agree?"   
  
Making my way slowly down from my perch atop the ladder, I was intercepted by a question from Satie, causing me to hesitate two rungs up from the bottom. "No offense, but have you ever written anything like this before?"   
  
I stared at him. Who _had_ written a play about a Swiss goat-herder and a nun that sang to hills? "No!"   
  
My admittance to my lack of experience seemed to dishearten the Bohemians for a moment. Once again, I was saved by the unfaltering admiration of the Argentinean who, upon crossing toward me, exclaimed. "Ah! The boy has talent! I like him!"   
  
In emphasis to his statement "I like him," he had spread both hands outward. Unfortunately for me, the fly of my trousers was caught directly in the palm of one of his hands. Uncertain of how to react, I tensed, a strangled gasp being the only response I could muster.   
  
Realizing what he'd done, the Argentinean pulled his hand away hastily, looking down with a cough. "Nothing funny. I just like talent."   
  
Fighting down an intense burning of embarrassment in my cheeks, I slowly pulled myself down the final rungs of the ladder, sidestepping shortly after to pull myself directly behind one of the pieces of painted cardboard that represented a mountain. Although it didn't hide the crimson that had made its way up from my neck, it did protect me from any further assaults by flying hands below the belt.   
  
Toulouse, the Doctor, and Satie had gathered into a bit of a huddle, paying little mind to what had occurred between the Argentinean and myself. The Argentinean, apparently eager to put it out of his mind, crowded in with the trio, leaving me on the outside, attempting to peer over their shoulders and straining to listen to the words.   
  
"The hills are alive with the sound of music," Toulouse quoted with an admirable tone. "See, Satie, with Christian, we can write the truly Bohemian Revolutionary show we've always dreamt of!"   
  
"Yes," Satie admitted with little hesitation. "But how will we convince Zidler?"   
  
"Satine," Toulouse responded. At that, all four of the Bohemians turned to look at me with their drunken smiles, causing me to recoil slightly. I had been leaning awfully close in my attempts to hear the words they were murmuring, and rather than look like an eavesdropper, I simply offered a weak smile.   
  
They returned to their huddle and, although I couldn't make out all the words, got the general idea fairly easily. They would dress me in the Argentinean's best suit and pass me off as a famous English writer. Once Satine heard my modern poetry, she would be astounded, and insist to Zidler that _I_ write _Spectacular, Spectacular_.   
  
The only problem was, I kept hearing my father's voice in my head, repeatedly saying "You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer!" and with the influx of information I'd taken in during the past thirty minutes, mixed with the cloud of disbelief I held in the drunken Children of the Revolution, it all became too much.   
  
Making a bolt past the quartet, I fell into a dead _run_ for the door. "No, I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!"   
  
No sooner had I gotten a foot past them had they all pivoted as one and grabbed me. Rather than be tackled, I simply sank to the floor, turning to face them.   
  
"Why not?" Toulouse demanded, leaning close. His voice, however, sounded more disappointed than truly angry.   
  
Stammering, I attempted to come up with a plausible reason. Unfortunately, the best I could provide was: "I--I don't even know if I _am_ a true Bohemian Revolutionary!"   
  
They gasped as one, as if the very notion was a shock before Toulouse prompted me. "Do you believe in beauty?"   
  
Knitting my brows together in confusion at such an absurd question, I answered, despite. "Yes."   
  
"Freedom?" the Argentinean questioned immediately thereafter.   
  
My gaze wandered to him, lingering on him for a moment before responding with less willingness than I had to Toulouse's question. It wasn't a lack of believing in freedom that I answered reluctantly, but a brewing suspicion as to where the conversation was going. "Yes, of course."   
  
"Truth?" asked Satie.   
  
Even more reluctant as the questions continued, I hesitated more so prior to answering. "Yes..."   
  
"Love?" The final question came from the Doctor, which instantly snapped my attention to him.   
  
"Love?" I echoed. "Love. Above all things I believe in love." Shaking my head just slightly, I allowed my gaze to trail sideward across the faces of the Bohemians. "Love is like oxygen. Love is a many splendored thing -- love lifts us up where we belong! All you need is love!" I concluded with a rather bright smile.   
  
Again, as one, the Children of the Revolution gasped, though this time in obvious pleasure at my response.   
  
"You see? You can't fool us!" Toulouse laughed in near glee. "You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution!"   
  
Before I could even blink, four sets of hands had set on my shoulders, pulling me rapidly up off the ground. "We can't be fooled!"   
  
"Let us drink to the new writer of the world's first Bohemian Revolutionary show!" Toulouse shouted, shoving a glass of the thick green liquid I'd seen them drinking off and on into my hands.   
  
Eyeing it reluctantly, I watched the four of them down their glasses first before raising my own to my lips and knocking the liquor back. Almost instantly, the world span out from under me in a dizzying array of vibrant greens and sound. The green rays whirled about my head before pressing together in the form of a strange little fairy dressed in a shimmering gown of bright green.   
  
My eyes widened for a moment, staring as I attempted to determine if I was losing my mind. The laughter from the other four men, however, as well as the fixing of their gazes on the same area that I was led me to believe that I wasn't. The sprite fluttered about seductively before us for a moment before singing, her voice distant and melodic -- almost hypnotic. "_The hills are alive with the sound of music!_"   
  
The five of us were still seeing the Green Fairy and feeling the effects of the Absinthe when we dressed and left.   
  
We were off to the Moulin Rouge... and I was to perform my poetry for Satine. 


	4. The Moulin Rouge

The Moulin Rouge; a nightclub, a dancehall, and a bordello, ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld.   
  
It was a place unlike I had ever heard of and as I was guided to the ominously spinning windmill that night by my four Bohemian companions, I couldn't help but feel scared. The sounds from inside, the strangely colored lights, and the hushed, conspiratory tones in which the Bohemians spoke of the club made me fear that my father had been correct about the dancehall.   
  
I put up little resistance until the enormous doors were reached. After getting a glance inside, however, I dug my heels into the ground, intent on going back to my garret and my typewriter, only to be intercepted by the Argentinean's strong arm. "Come on, Christian," he muttered into my ear. "Enjoy yourself!"   
  
At that order, Toulouse had pulled the front doors completely open. In emphasis to his statement, the Argentinean placed a forceful shove into my shoulders, sending me staggering in the front doors at a pace that almost made me lose my top hat. I was instantly silenced with astonishment, freezing in place.   
  
I was standing on the very edge of a massive dance floor, the outside of which was covered in balconies, tables, and chairs. Directly across the floor was a long string of doors through which countless females dressed in billowing gowns of bright colors were emerging, crowding about the form of a tall, plump, red-haired man. Harold Zidler.   
  
Men, mostly from the upper classes had already half-way filled the building, all in their night's best, and were subjecting the army of women to obscene catcalls and whistles. What surprised me the most, however, was the fact that the women seemed to enjoy it and only tempted the men on. I tried to speak to Toulouse who had filed in behind me, but my voice was lost and the only sound I could manage was something of a strangled non-word.   
  
The dwarfed Bohemian didn't let me try and find a sentence, either, using a grasp on the cuff of my sleeve, as well as the Argentinean's, Satie's, and the Doctor's urgent nudges to get me to move out of the doorway and into the club just as the parade of females, led by their ringleader, rushed out from behind the doors and onto the dance floor, prompting the swarm of men after them.   
  
The women danced like I never even knew possible. Rapid twists, pivotes, and complete splits were performed midst the vulgar and grabbing men as if it was second nature, flashing their skirts high above their head in a manner that made every gentlemanly ounce of me want to look away and spare their dignity. I couldn't, however. Between the hypnotic music and singing, I was simply mesmerized, halfway unconscious to the fact that the Bohemians were pulling me through the crowd and prompting me along the way to fall into step with the complicated dance steps if only to blend in.   
  
I was still in my state of stupefied silence when I was pulled to a table and nearly forced down into a chair by Toulouse. I blinked rapidly, head tilting toward him, though I never quite moved my head from the spectacle in front of me that had changed during our movement to a quick-paced can-can.   
  
"Christian!" He shouted over the crowd, nearly in my ear to be heard. It was only after that that I was able to snap my attention away from the dancers, blinking at him in wide-eyed silence. "We have successfully evaded Zidler!"   
  
My brow pinched gradually, and I was on the verge of questioning him when the lights dimmed, and a beam of bright lighting came from the rafters overhead, steam and glitter falling through the light toward the floor below. The entire club went deathly silent, and I could hear the blood pounding in my temples as I let my gaze wander upward to find the form of a lithe, redheaded female positioned atop a trapeze, most likely a hundred feet up from the floor.   
  
I was stunned, though not from the danger associated with her hanging there. Not even her gaudy, glittery outfit and top hat truly distracted me. The entire time, my eyes were locked on her features. Somewhere during my silent watching, I forgot to breathe, and it was when Toulouse leaned toward me and whispered that I remembered to, a strangled gasp being the form that it took.   
  
"It's her," Toulouse stated under his breath, pointing with one hand.   
  
His words didn't even penetrate my thoughts. I was too far hypnotized by her features. She was absolutely beautiful, far surpassing anything I'd ever seen or dreamt of my entire life.   
  
"...The Sparkling Diamond," Toulouse finished.   
  
And then, she spoke and I knew. I knew before even knowing her name, even realizing who or what she was, that I loved her. 


	5. The Sparkling Diamond

"_The French are glad to die for love_," she stated in half sing-song, her voice saucy and distant -- as unreachable as her body was, suspended above all of the figures down on the dance floor. "_They delight in fighting duels_."   
  
Steadily, throughout those simple yet hypnotizing words, she was being lowered to the floor and by that point, the lowering halted, about ten feet up and just out of the reach of the men when they stretched for her. "_But I prefer a man who lives... and gives expensive...jewels_."   
  
At the last statement, she leaned back within her trapeze, stretching out as it slowly began a circular swing above the heads of the men, during which she reached her hands out to them, thoroughly relishing the cat-calls they gave. I was conscious somewhere in the back of my mind that the band had began to play and I was still staring when I felt the harsh grip of the Argentinean clamp down on my shoulder, a sound of astonishment coming from him, as well. At least I wasn't the only one taken with her.   
  
The circular rotation had halted and the trapeze itself had lowered toward the men even more as the band had come in, leaving her to rock back within the trapeze and use it as a swing, right in the middle of the swarm of grabbing, inconsiderate men.   
  
"_A kiss on the hand may be quite continental_," that mesmerizing voice was produced from her again and I couldn't help but strangle out a sound, pushing to my feet. I wanted nothing more than to go down to the dance floor and shoo the men off of her so that she could continue her number, but the Bohemians grabbed me as one and forced me back down into my chair. I was left to simply stare at her in awe.   
  
"_But diamonds are a girl's best friend!_" A group of voices answered the redhead in song, but I didn't even bother to glance and try and find out who they were. The woman I was enraptured with was moving again, and I was studious in watching.   
  
"_A kiss may be grand but it won't pay the rental on your humble flat!_" She'd maneuvered herself easily down from the trapeze and was crossing through a small opening in the crowd of men that the other Moulin Rouge workers had created. Fortunately, she was much taller than even some of the men, and I could see her above the their heads.   
  
She twisted about on a heel, tossing one particular young man a coy glance over her shoulder. "Or help you feed your, _meow_, pussycat."   
  
"_Men grow cold as girls grow old_," She'd straightened again and with a topple that almost made me rise against the four sets of hands set on my shoulders, she fell back into the crowd of men. They seemed eager enough to catch her, though, so she was "safe."   
  
"_And we all lose our charms in the end_." She reached back to pat a black glove along the cheek of one of the men nearest her before pushing rapidly off of him and into a step away that left all of the men who caught her jabbing each other's ribs furiously.   
  
"_But square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks don't lose their shape! Diamonds are a girl's best friend!_" While walking, a group of the Moulin Rouge men swept up under her, catching her beneath the legs to pull her up onto their shoulders, a perch that she seemed quite willing to take away from the other men -- but perhaps that was just me wishing she would.   
  
An insistent tug from Toulouse pulled my attention, as reluctant as it was, away from the dance floor, leaning in to hear his voice over the music.   
  
"After her number," he stated nothing short of triumphantly. "I've arranged a private meeting; just you and Mademoiselle Satine. Totally alone."   
  
My eyes must have widened to the size of saucers. I scrambled for my voice, but when it came, it resembled more of a squeak than my normal tone. "...alone?"   
  
"Yes, totally alone," Toulouse reemphasized.   
  
Pondering that in a dazed sort of silence, my attention wandered back to the beautiful woman. The Sparkling Diamond. Satine.   
  
She was picking herself up off the floor when I found her, and I gave a faintly inquisitive quirk to my brow, only to find that she'd been on top of a man. Clearing my throat slightly, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.   
  
"Come and get me boys," She called over her shoulder, stepping out into a circle of them that promptly caught hold of her and _tossed_ her into the air, an action that caused her to produce a sound similar to a dog's howl.   
  
Surprised, I almost went to stand again, murmuring under my breath. "Oh my..." Again, however, the Bohemians were avid in holding me back.   
  
The crowd carried Satine easily over to a platform in the middle of the dance floor. She slid out of their hands and climbed up atop it with a sultry stride forward. It was only then that I noticed Zidler had climbed up there with her, but she began to sing again, and it distracted me from the man's presence.   
  
"_There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer!_"   
  
"_But diamonds are a girl's best friend_," echoed the chorus. At the statement of the chorus, Zidler produced a trinket of diamonds and dangled them in front of Satine. She made a show of reaching for them before striding forward again.   
  
"_There may come a time when a hard-boiled employer thinks you're..._"   
  
"Awful nice!" Zidler chimed in, pantomiming grabbing her backside.   
  
Satine whirled on him, as if offended. "But get that ice or else no dice!"   
  
The show continued before me, but it was at that time that I took note of the fact that Toulouse was scrambling about me to try and get to the opposite side of the balcony on which we were settled. I shifted to let him pass, and just a few seconds later, he returned, reaching for the front of my suit.   
  
Grasping my handkerchief, he pulled it out of my pocket, waving it in front of my face slightly. "Excuse me, Christian, may I borrow this?" I tried to stammer out a response to Toulouse's question, but he was already turning away. I risked a glance toward Satine again, only to find her looking straight at me. My stomach leaped up somewhere near my throat.   
  
Unfortunately, the gaze was broken, and she and Zidler retreated down behind a swarm of girls. I furrowed my brow in vague disappointment, turning my attention on the other Bohemians who were caught up in the show just as much as I was. I vaguely noted Toulouse's return, but by that point in time, Satine's voice brought my attention back around to her.   
  
"_'Cause that's when those louses go back to their spouses!_" She'd performed an entire outfit change while being hidden, and was lifted up from her platform by the workers that had carried her earlier. This time, however, they were carrying her directly toward my balcony. "_Diamonds...are a...girl's...best...friend!_"   
  
The Argentinean's hand tightened on my shoulder as she approached and for a moment, I turned my gaze away to glance up on him. When I looked back toward Satine, she was basically right on top of me, having jumped into the balcony and maneuvered the front of her costumed chest mere inches in front of my face. I recoiled in shock, wide-eyed gaze slowly moving up to her.   
  
"...I believe you were expecting me?" She questioned, voice distant and feline.   
  
My jaw fell. I at first questioned if she was even speaking to me, scrambling for any sort of response. Noting she was staring at me, awaiting something, I struggled before stammering out, barely above a whisper. "...yes." Noting the inaudible qualities to my first statement, I reiterated it, though could formulate little more strength to push the word out. "Yes."   
  
Taking my statement as truth, Satine pivoted away from me to address the silent dance floor full of men. "I'm afraid it's lady's choice." The men gave a discontented sound at the announcement before falling silent, as if waiting for something.   
  
Shifting on her heels, Satine extended a hand toward me, crooking a finger into a point at me. I didn't have the faintest clue as to what she was doing other than pointing, and almost sank back in my chair from her. For as lovely as she was, she was slightly intimidating. At my slinking away, she overturned her features into that of an over-dramatic pout, turning back to the crowd with an audible whimper.   
  
The 'awed' in sympathy before beginning to chant a string of words I couldn't quite make out. I was too busy gaping at all of the attention I'd suddenly been served, as well as the jealous glances by several men. In tempo to the chanting, Satine took the edges of her skirt, flipping them out slightly with short bursts of the yowl sound she'd produced earlier.   
  
I was still staring at this change of events when she fell into a back peddle toward me, the feathered backside of her dress nearly covering my head with the movement. I sputtered slightly, recoiling to gawk at her. She was absolutely crazy.   
  
At that point, Toulouse came scampering up beside us, addressing Satine just as the band began to play music again. "Satine! I see you already met my English friend --"   
  
"I'll handle this Toulouse!" She cut him off with a mere gesture of her hand, coaxing me forward with a waggle of her finger. "Let's dance!"   
  
"-- He writes the world's most modern poems!" Toulouse continued, only to fall silent as he noted Satine was turning away to rush out onto the floor.   
  
I hesitated until the Argentinean's insistent swats on my shoulder and the clutch of a few strangers to my elbows brought me to my feet. The strangers continued to drag me after her until I was situated in the middle of the dance floor opposite the angelic dancer in awkward silence.   
  
Instantly, Satine caught her arms about my neck and pulled me into step with her. Fortunately, she seemed to know the steps well enough to lead me and, following her lead, I managed to stumble my way through the quick motions.   
  
She pulled away to execute a few spins before me, only after doing so, venturing to break the silence. "It's so wonderful for you to take an interest in our little show!" She had to shout to be heard over the crowd.   
  
Under her guidance, I was beginning to loosen up (mentally at least) and I even performed a smaller spin in mimic of one of hers before responding. "It sounds very exciting -- I'd be delighted to be involved."   
  
Satine seemed genuinely surprised by that statement, reaching forward to coil arms about my neck again and fall into the simpler dance between the two of us. "_Really?_"   
  
The question itself was strange to me, being that I thought I'd already demonstrated that by having come to audition to her in the first place, but I indulged her. "Assuming you like what I do, of course." I even attempted a stab at modesty.   
  
Strangely enough, she appeared to be taken aback by the modesty, motioning to herself with a quirk of the brows. "I'm sure I will."   
  
"T-Toulouse," I continued, stammering only because she had dipped backward in my arms suddenly before popping back up. "-- thought we might be able to do it in private."   
  
"Did he?" she questioned. What did she expect me to do? Audition in front of the entire Moulin Rouge?   
  
Hesitating, I nodded. "Yes, you know. A private..." Again, she dipped backward. This time, however, when she popped back up, I was the recipient of a face full of silken red hair, an occurrence that caused me to sputter. "...poetry reading."   
  
Her response was hardly what I expected.   
  
"_Ooh_," she breathed, a throaty purr (as alluring as it was unexpected) accentuating the word. "Mm. A _poetry_ reading." She almost grinned as she let go of her hold on my neck, reaching outward to run hands along my chest. "I love a little poetry after supper."   
  
Admittedly, I was too taken aback to respond to that statement fully. The dance was nearing its end, and with a last second warning for me to hold onto my hat, she kicked up into the air, a simultaneous gesture with every other female dancer in the club. Every hat but mine was kicked off its owner's head, sending it spiraling through the air. I barely managed to hold onto mine.   
  
She gave me instructions on where to meet her later that evening, and with little more than a saucy grin in my direction, she disappeared into the throng of workers, leaving me to work my way back to the balcony in which the Children of the Revolution were seated in stunned silence.   
  
I was greeted warmly with pats on the back and congratulatory remarks, though I couldn't quite pinpoint why they were treating me like that. I hadn't even auditioned yet!   
  
I was still being jostled about by the quartet when Satine's voice broke out over the audience again. I turned to see her being lifted back out of the crowd upon the trapeze through which she'd entered.   
  
"_Square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks don't lose their shape! Diamonds...are a...girl's...best..._" She trailed off however, tilting her head up toward the rafters from her perch at an abnormal angle.   
  
Something seemed terribly wrong with the scene and I leaned forward to get a better look at what was occurring. To my horror, she went toppling back off the trapeze, tumbling the good fifty feet to the ground until, out of nowhere, a tall black man stepped in the way and caught her.   
  
I gave a sigh of relief, allowing demanding eyes to trail toward Harold Zidler who, throughout the number, had maneuvered himself up onto the balcony atop which the band was situated.   
  
Zidler gave a quick gesture of the hand to the black man. The man was prompt in carrying the crumpled Satine toward a door, disappearing through it. Zidler, apparently unphased, began to cheer and applaud to her name, something that the crowd responded to in kind, forgetting easily about the near-death they'd witnessed.   
  
"Oh, you've frightened her away!" Shouted Zidler, cueing the ceasing of the applause. "But I can still see a few lonely Moulin Rouge dancers who are looking for a partner or two! So, if you can honk-honk, you can honkadula with them!"   
  
Immediately, the band began playing and the men and dancers alike swarmed back onto the dance floor.   
  
I couldn't do it, however. I was still being haunted by the harrowing view of her tumbling, limp, only to fall unconscious into the arms of the black man. 


	6. Straight to the Elephant...

I was correct in my belief that the large building directly in front of my apartment's window was in the shape of an elephant. In fact, the building itself had been where Satine had requested me to meet her for our poetry reading. Toulouse had been more than capable of escorting me to the staircase that would lead up the elephant and into the main room which, as I quickly learned, was centered in the head.   
  
I was relieved, upon knocking on the large metal doorway, to be greeted by Satine herself who shook the occurrence of falling from her trapeze during the show off, gestured me inside then retreated to change clothes.   
  
Removing my hat, I tugged it down in front of me prior to taking the time to inspect the large room in avid concentration. It was lavishly decorated in paintings, statues, and other odds and ends that gave it a distinctly Indian feel. An enormous, heart-shaped window composed the south wall, and upon approach to it, I noticed that there was no glass separating it from the outside and the cool Paris air. Almost parallel to the heart, albeit about a block away, the window of my garret could be seen.   
  
Midst that scattered statues and assorted objects, a table, complete with a champagne bottle, ice bucket, glasses, and a tray of fruits sat, as well as a large, feathery bed against a wall, covered in crimson sheets and multiple pillows. I briefly wondered at the absurdity of having a bed in a meeting room, but I decided to pay it little mind, turning back to stare out the window, fingers twisting my hat about by the rim in a gesture of nervousness.   
  
"This is a wonderful place for a poetry reading, don't you think?" The feline-isque, throaty voice of Satine brought me out of my reverie. Reflexively, I pivoted on a heel to face her and nearly dropped my hat.   
  
She had changed into a dark, lacey piece of lingerie that left little to the imagination. I felt my breath catch somewhere in my throat, fingers tensing about the rim of my hat in flabbergasted silence. "...poetic enough for you?" She purred seductively, apparently referring to her attire.   
  
At a complete loss, I stammered slightly, pulling my gaze away from her immodestly dressed frame to merely fix on her features. "Y-yes."   
  
Turning from me, she fell into a languid stride for the table, reaching for the neck of the champagne bottle. "Would you like a little supper? Maybe some...champagne?"   
  
"...I'd rather, um...just get it over and done with," I stated truthfully, willing myself to keep my attention firmly on the back of her head, though I could feel the increase in temperature in my cheeks.   
  
Somehow, that seemed to offend her and she dropped the champagne bottle rather suddenly back into the ice bucket. "Oh," she breathed in annoyance. When she turned to face me, however, the annoyance had completely been wiped away from her. Instead, she offered a slow quirk to her brow, falling into step past me and toward the bed. "Very well. Why don't you...come over here --" she questioned as she sank down onto the bed, turning over onto her back and leaning against the nest of pillows, patting the space beside her. "-- and let's get it over and done with?"   
  
I don't think that my attempt, as heart-felt as it was, to not gape at her was entirely successful. My clutch to my hat only increased ten-fold, blinking. "...Actually, I'd prefer to do it standing." I always felt much more comfortable remaining standing as I recited poetry.   
  
Her eyes widened just slightly at my statement. "Oh." Pushing herself upward, she began to slide to the edge of the bed.   
  
Realizing she was going to stand up just for me, I rushed to correct it, reaching out a hand slightly. There was no reason I couldn't stand and she could remain seated. "Y-you don't have to stand, I mean!" Reading into the confused expression she wore, I continued. "It's just that sometimes...it's quite long, and I -- I'd like you to be comfortable."   
  
Whereas I had expected that small speech to put her at ease, she only seemed to be gaping at me, uncertain how to respond. Stammering, I tried to find a better way of reassuring her. She apparently hadn't been to many poetry readings. "I-it's quite modern what I do, and it may feel a little strange at first, but...but I think if you're open, you might enjoy it." I concluded with a smile.   
  
Again, her response was nothing as I expected. She seemed taken aback, almost out of breath, and continued to stare at me as if uncertain how to respond. "...I'm sure I will."   
  
The heat in my face only increased with her response and I finally had to look away entirely. "...excuse me." Turning, I took a few short strides across the room until locating a small window. Eyeing the horizon line through it for a moment, gathering inspiration, I turned back toward her, motioning toward the windowpane with my hat. "The sky -- the sky is..."   
  
To my complete surprise, she leaned backward across the bed, shifting her hands across herself at my words, and even strangled out a _moan_.   
  
My train of thought was completely derailed at the sight, and in my haste to not gape at her, my hold on whatever rhyme I had created disappeared, leaving me to struggle for something to fill it with. "...is, ugh...blue? Birds..._ooh_."   
  
Turning quickly away, I gave a fierce shake to my head, a vain stab at clearing it, especially since I could hear her still making the strangled moaning sounds behind me. Buzzing my lips slightly, a murmured a few strings of "Come on, Christian" beneath my breath, rerouting my train of thought.   
  
Working up the courage, I pivoted on my heel to face her a second time. And there she was, stretched out atop the bed, running hands along herself -- and still making those sounds.   
  
"-- I think the mountains are..._shaking_." My voice quivered out of control at the last word in my phrase and I was forced to promptly turn away from her again, scrambling mentally. What was she _doing_? Mumbling to myself, I gave another rapid shake to my head, only to be interrupted by her voice.   
  
"Um...is everything all right?"   
  
Was _I_ all right? _She_ was the one...doing what she was doing! Angling myself about on an ankle, I glanced at her over my shoulder to see that she'd sat up, and was leaning forward, staring at me in concern.   
  
Swallowing back the discomfort her previous actions had generated, my head lowered in vague shame. Although I was reasonably distracted, it rarely took so much effort on my part to come up with plausible poetry. "I'm just a little nervous," I blurted out reluctantly. "...it's just that sometimes it...takes a while for, uh --"   
  
"_Ooh_," She breathed, as if finally understanding. Pushing herself up from her seat, she crossed toward me as I attempted to finish my sentence.   
  
"...for, you know," Nodding toward the floor in embarrassed silence, I finished. "..._inspiration_ to come."   
  
"Oh, yes, yes, yes," She purred as she reached me, her mere nearness drawing me about to face her completely. "Let mommy help."   
  
I was contemplating how she could possibly help when, in a sudden motion, she reached downward and clutched a hand forcefully to the front of my pants, lifting up. I struggled out a nearly mute gasp, staring at her.   
  
Even had I the ability to speak at the moment, she would have cut me off with the next question, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper. "Does _that_ inspire you?" She tugged me forcefully forward, pushing me into a stagger for the bed atop which I fell with a startled flop.   
  
No sooner had I rolled over was she on top of me, straddling my waist. "Let's make love!"   
  
"Make _love_?" I echoed in shocked disbelief. Whatever happened to the poetry reading?   
  
"You want to, don't you?" The question didn't quite suggest that she cared one way or the other, especially considering that despite my squirming, she was making haste to untie my bow tie and pull apart the buttons of my shirt.   
  
"Well, I -- I came to --" I tried to explain, but she lifted a hand to press it to my lips and silence me, her opposite hand untucking my shirt with a solid jerk.   
  
"Tell the truth! Feel the poetry!" She exclaimed, leaving me to stare up at her, dumbfounded. She continued to struggle with my clothes. "Come on, feel it, free the tiger!" Leaning backward to sink down into a perch atop my thighs, she tipped her head back, letting out one of the yowls she'd utilized so avidly on the dance floor earlier.   
  
Then, she located the front of my trousers and unbuttoned them. We both froze for a moment, my wide eyes on her and her wide eyes on... well.   
  
"...big boy!" She gasped out, hands lingering before she threw herself back down on my chest with renewed vehemence. "_Yes_, I need your poetry _now_!"   
  
Why _that_ had caused her to suddenly want me to recite poetry for the first time all night had me flabbergasted, but who was I to deny her? Scrambling, I stammered out a breathless "All right!" before rolling out from under her to hit the ground with a thud. I found my footing quickly, maneuvering myself a safe distance from the bed as I hurried to try and cover myself, buttoning my trousers in an attempt to regain some of my lost dignity.   
  
The look she gave me suggested she didn't want me to get up at all, but I didn't plan on giving her the time to act on that look. Instead, I panted out a line. "...It's a little bit funny --"   
  
That earned me a deadpan stare of confusion from her. "_What_?"   
  
"This f-feeling," I continued, as if attempting to explain while making words fit in my head. "In-inside. I'm not one of those who can --" Finally getting my trousers buttoned completely, I strengthened my voice slightly. "-- who can easily hide." Hesitating, however, I looked at her, furrowing my brows in self-conscious questioning. "I-is this okay? Is this what you want?"   
  
As if only then realizing that I was reciting poetry, she leaned backward, eyes widening with a nod. "Oh, _poetry_. Yes, yes, this is what I want! Naughty words!" She promptly threw herself back on the bed at that, lashing out slightly with her frame.   
  
I only hesitated a moment before continuing, though I couldn't help but stare at her, confused by her strange response. "I-I don't have much money but, boy, if I did...I'd buy a big house where we...both c-could live."   
  
"Oh, yes, _yes_!" She breathed, sliding off the bed and to a heap of writhing lace and flesh on the floor, the motion itself causing my jaw to fall slightly, feet unconsciously maneuvering myself a bit away from her.   
  
"...If I were a sculptor, but then again, no..." I trailed off, though, being that at just about that time, she began pleading with me, repeating the word "no." So, I stopped, gawking at her.   
  
Her writhing halted at my hesitation and with a sudden motion, she pushed herself up slightly, waving at me. "No, no, don't stop!"   
  
"...I know it's not much," I continued reluctantly, very certain by that point that I was trapped in a room with a psychopath and that I should be looking around for an escape route rather than stand there.   
  
Satine reached for the bed, clutching a large, furry blanket and pulling it down to her. In a single rolling gesture, she had raveled herself up in the material and began to lash about on the ground. "Give me more! Yes! _Yes_!"   
  
Brow furrowed, I shied away even further, completely confused. "...but it's the best I could do." How did she expect to _hear_ my poetry over her shouts? Sensing that I might be steadily losing my chance to audition to her, I pursed my lips, trying to conjure a way to get her attention.   
  
"_Naughty_! Don't stop! Yes, yes, _yes_!" She continued to carry on in the floor, rolling about in what I could only assume to be ecstasy.   
  
Turning away from her slightly to face the heart-shaped window, I took in a deep breath before belting out an improvised line to a song -- a last-ditch effort in claiming her attention. "_My gift is my song_!"   
  
Letting the last note trail off into the night's wind, I took note of the dead silence that had filled the elephant shortly after and, with a subtle shift on a heel to glance back at her, finished the line, evaluating her response. "_...and this one's for you._"   
  
Upon my turn to her, I noted the fact that she'd sat up fully from her sprawl across the floor, and although she was still tangled up within the fur blanket she'd previously been rolling about in, it was gradually sinking down either side of her slim shoulders, those brilliant blue eyes of hers fixed intently on me as she listened.   
  
"..._and you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple but, now that it's done_ --" I hesitated just slightly, remaining angled toward her on my ankle as she continued to watch me. For a moment, I entertained the thought that she was leaning forward, enraptured with my words, but common sense forced me to push that thought from my mind. She was distracting enough with her beauty; I didn't need to think she was as fascinated with me as I was with her.   
  
"_Hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words_..." Minute as it was, I could feel a distant smile quirking upward at my lips, a motion that she was quick to duplicate, if only a small version of her own. The beauty behind the simplicity of it, a genuine smile in place of the seductive ones she'd worn all night, was one that I loved her even more for. As fleeting as it was, she was allowing me to see _her_ -- Satine. Not the Sparkling Diamond.   
  
"..._how wonderful life is, now you're in the world_." As I concluded the initial phrase, I noted she was shifted midst the blanket to rise. Willing myself to not be distracted after I'd successfully snagged her attention, I dropped my head forward slightly, still smiling as I rotated my frame toward the heart-shaped window.   
  
"_Sat on the roof_," I continued, casting a glance down to the sidewalks below as I took a few short strides forward. "..._and I kicked off the moss. Some of these verses, well they_ --" I allowed my shoulders roll backward slightly in emphasis to the lyrics, left heel pushing into the carpet and providing a steady pivote-place to cast a glance back on her. "..._they got me quite cross_."   
  
"_But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song_," She had risen completely and was moving, albeit slowly, toward me as I went on and I ventured to take a few steps toward her myself, turning slightly to her left before facing her entirely. "_It's the people like you that keep it turned on_."   
  
Despite her smile, she shied from me at that line, stepping past me and into a short-stepped maneuver toward the window, that beautiful, porcelain face canted downward toward her chest. Following was all I could do to prevent myself from reaching for her entirely.   
  
"_So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do_," I paused mid-step and song as she rotated to view me better. Reluctant, though only out of fear that she'd pull away, I allowed my hands to trail gently outward, catching one of her slender palms and cradling it between mine. To my utter delight, she allowed me to do so.   
  
Tipping my head back up before I could let my attention veer far enough astray to hurt the song, I leaned forward slightly, ducking my head just enough to be under her line of sight, peering amorously into those deep blue eyes of hers. "_You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue_."   
  
Affirming myself to the fact that they were the most beautiful shade of azure I'd ever considered possible, I dropped my head again, thumbs grazing along the silken skin of that palm of hers that I still held to, lifting it tenderly toward my face. "_Well, the thing is...what I really mean_," I continued prior to looking up rapidly, offering a smile into those angelic features. "_Yours are the sweetest eyes, I've ever seen!_"   
  
Pressing her captured palm more firmly into my right hand, I took a light hold about that thin waist of hers in my left prior to spinning her in a ballroom fashion, waltzing into a back-peddle through the lavishly decorated room -- though it took little imagination to carry us elsewhere, as if we could dance on the clouds of Paris themselves.   
  
"_And you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple but, now that it's done. Hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words_..." Rotating out of our waltz, she pulled away slightly to watch me as I stepped back into the night's lighting the large window provided. "..._how wonderful life is now you're in the world_."   
  
Pivoting into a faint spin of her own, she rotated across the small amount of distance to me, that lacey gown billowing about her heels and her frame until she pulled herself to a halt just short of me.   
  
"..._hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words... how wonderful life is_," With a sudden motion, I intercepted her as she closed the distance to me, sweeping an arm tenderly up and under those lithe legs of hers to pull her into my arms in a cradle, spinning about on my heel. "..._now you're in the world!_"   
  
I held the last note out until I hadn't the breath to hold it any longer, allowing it to fade off as my spinning slowed to a stop. Dipping downward, I kept my gentle hold on Satine intact, holding her at an angle from the ground, our faces lingering so near I could feel and taste her warm breath on my lips. I let the very tip of my nose brush along hers tenderly, searching those wide blue eyes of hers in wonder. She was simply staring at me.   
  
It was so perfect, her weight nestled in my arms, those slim limbs of hers tangled about my neck as we stared into each other's eyes, I almost lost myself to the moment.   
  
Her voice is what brought me out of my dazed reverie, the sultry tone she'd used earlier gone completely and replaced by a soft, angelic one. Her real voice. She was speaking to me as _Satine_.   
  
"I can't believe it," she murmured, seeming as though she was marveling at my features almost as much as I was hers. "...I'm in love." I couldn't restrain my smile at that. "I'm in love with a young, handsome, talented...Duke."   
  
I blinked. Had I heard her wrong? Tipping my head slightly to the side, my brows were pressed together in question, echoing her voice in a whisper interrogatively. "...Duke?"   
  
"Ooh," she purred, still using that gentle voice of hers, head tipping back against my cradling arms. "...not that the title's important, of course."   
  
I didn't understand, and, with a minute shake of my head, I expressed that fact. It must have been a small mistake -- it didn't change my feelings for her any in the least. "I'm not a Duke."   
  
She frowned just slightly at that, staring up on me in confusion. "...not a Duke?"   
  
She must have truly believed I was a Duke and as flattering as that was, it was a bit of an absurd notion, one I couldn't help but smile at. "I'm a writer," I corrected.   
  
Tantalizingly slow, she'd leaned in until I was certain we were to kiss. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be the case, being that once she'd allowed my correction to sink in, she pulled back in my arms.   
  
"A _writer_?" She questioned in a voice that seemed something akin to disgust, gaping at me as if my vocation made her see me in a different light entirely.   
  
Perhaps I should have said I _was_ a Duke...   
  
It was much too late to feign Dukedom, however, and so, I provided an affirmative nod to the question, confused as to why it mattered if she fell in love with a writer, a Duke, or the Queen of England herself. Love was love, and perfect in any form. "...yes, a writer."   
  
Her response was far from what I hoped it would be. "_No!_" She gasped out, pressing slender palms to my chest to push me away from her.   
  
I let go as she squirmed out of my arms, staring in torn confusion. I was on the verge of protesting in the name of love when a subtle glance sidelong revealed to me an obscure sight.   
  
Dangling, upside down with his head visible through the open heart-shaped window, Toulouse could be seen, watching us.   
  
Had I been anywhere else, I might have questioned the absurdity of such a thing, but I was quickly becoming accustumed to life in Montmartre, as well as the estranged antics of my Bohemians companions, and simply passed it off as normal.   
  
"Oh, hi, Toulouse." I stated rather offhandedly, a greeting that earned me a smile from the dwarf.   
  
Satine did not seem quite as happy to see the little man as I was.   
  
"_Toulouse?!_" She exclaimed, recoiling from the window slightly as she raised a hand to press it to her chest in what I guessed to be horror.   
  
For a very short moment, I believed she was going to attack Toulouse then and there. Instead, however, she turned her attention on me, circling into a step around me as if she was afraid to get too close.   
  
"Not another of Toulouse's oh-so-talented, charmingly Bohemian, tragically impoverished protégés?" She questioned, her eyes tracing my face with an unreadable expression.   
  
I wavered on my heels, shoulders shrugging in embarrassed modesty. I didn't think myself as talented as the Bohemians thought me to be, but such praise coming from her meant a great deal more in my mind. "Well, you might say that..."   
  
Apparently, I had answered inappropriately again.   
  
"_Oh no!_" She gasped out, the hand that had previously rested on her chest fleeing to cover her mouth. Those beautiful blues flashed dangerously, her gaze snapping up toward Toulouse in what appeared to be outrage. "I'm going to _kill_ him!"   
  
Toulouse, realizing his life was in danger, scrambled up from his dangle, retreating back to the top of the elephant and out of sight.   
  
"I'm going to _kill_ him," Satine repeated to herself, her eyes wide. For a moment, I thought she was going to chase Toulouse, but she reached out to me instead, a motion that made me subconsciously recoil from her. Was she going to kill _me_?   
  
She caught hold of my arm and tugged me into a sudden step for the door, the words "The Duke" being the only thing she'd offer to me in explanation.   
  
Managing to loosen my arm from the death grip she had caught onto my elbow, I watched as she pulled ahead of me and, in her haste to open it, nearly ripped the door off its hinges.   
  
I didn't quite get a glimpse of what was on the other side, but there was obviously something there that she didn't like, for no sooner had she opened the door, was she slamming it closed again, bracing her back to it as she gaped at me wide-eyed.   
  
"_The Duke!_" She cried out.   
  
I was still confused as to what was going on, and finally blurted out a question, hoping to shed some light on the mystery. "The Duke?"   
  
"_Hide!_" She commanded sharply, moving toward me again. The menace of earlier, however, had been replaced with a sense of terror I didn't quite understand.   
  
Obeying with little second thought, I went to dive behind the refreshment table but was intercepted by the sound of the door opening. There wasn't enough time to get there.   
  
So, I improvished. I ducked down behind Satine's legs and just prayed that I wouldn't be seen.   
  
(( Yes, yes, I know... it's a bad place to stop, but I'm steadily reaching the 300 K limit or whatever and need to break to another chapter. Just think of it as one of those annoying television commercials that happen in the least opportune instances... )) 


	7. The Duke

"My dear!" Harold Zidler exclaimed as he came rushing in the front doors. "Are you decent for the Duke? Where were you?"   
  
Satine caught hold of one of the lace extensions of her attire, holding out as she attempted to position herself in front of me better.   
  
With the way everyone was talking about this Duke, I wanted a glimpse of him. I noted a second pair of feet entering behind Zidler, and, assuming that they belonged to the Duke, I slowly peeked my head out from behind Satine, attempting to get a good look at the man.   
  
She must have felt my movement, being that I'd no sooner gotten my nose past the back of her knee when she roughly drove the side of her leg into my face in warning. I was stunned, but I took the warning well and recoiled back out of view.   
  
"I..." She stammered out, taking a very small step backward toward the refreshment table, nudging me along the floor as she did so. "...was...waiting." She concluded only after having gotten herself directly alongside the table.   
  
I took my cue and crawled behind it.   
  
"Dearest Duke," Zidler exclaimed, apparently addressing the figure that -- although I was yet to see him -- I knew to be my competition of sorts in gaining Satine's attention. "Allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Satine."   
  
I had to get a look at him. Slowly, I straightened behind the table, using the fruit bowl as cover as I risked a glance at the entering man. What I saw was far from what I expected.   
  
The Duke was short, impossibly thin, and was dressed in what could be noted as a very expensive tux, though it did little to make him look any more masculine than he was. He removed his hat upon fixing beady eyes on Satine, an action that revealed a chin-length tuft of stringy, blonde hair that hung about his face in such a way that gave the allusion to being dog-ears. His long face was overshadowed by a strangely large and pointed nose, under which a mustache as blonde as his hair grew. His lips were pursed in a manner that made him look something like a rodent, completing his absurd appearance.   
  
I gawked. How had Satine mistaken me for that man?   
  
"Mm, Monsieur," She purred, shifting about on a heel to cast a sharp glance in my direction, a motion that made me duck back under the table in response. Right. I was supposed to be hiding. "How wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit."   
  
"The pleasure, I fear," The Duke responded in a voice that made me cringe. His voice was as nasal and revolting as he _looked_. "-- will be entirely mine, my dear."   
  
"I'll leave you squirrels to get better acquainted," Zidler offered to them, a statement that made me writhe mentally. "Ta-ta!" It was the sound of the door slamming that alerted me to the fact that I was alone with the two of them.   
  
The problem was, I really wasn't supposed to be there at all.   
  
"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental," the obnoxious voice of the Duke rang out as the door shut. Although I couldn't see what was occurring, I could tell that he'd made something of an advance on Satine.   
  
"...but diamonds are a girl's best friend," she completed for him, her voice bordering severely on patronizing. She gave a soft squeak shortly after, then I heard the bed shift.   
  
_They were already in bed?!_ Frowning, I lifted my head again to glance between the two. Satine had taken the Duke's hat and cane and had dropped back onto the bed with an exasperated contortion to her features. The Duke's back was to me, but it didn't take much observation on my part to note that he was enjoying the view that her sprawling back on the bed had presented.   
  
The Duke turned rather suddenly toward me, something that made me recoil back under the table again. He was crossing toward the table. "After tonight's pretty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need for some refreshment, my dear."   
  
I heard the champagne bottle rattle within the ice bucket and winced. It would only be a matter of seconds before he spotted me.   
  
"_Don't!_" Satine all but shrieked, a sound that must have startled the Duke as much as it startled myself. Seemingly realizing her error, she stammered to continue. "...you just...love the view, mm?"   
  
From my angle behind the table, I could only see the Duke clearly, and Satine must have motioned toward the heart-shaped window, for he turned (albeit cautiously) toward the window to cast it a glance.   
  
"Charming," The Duke provided reluctantly. No sooner had he breathed that was he turning back toward the champagne bottle and, more importantly, my hiding place.   
  
"_Ooh!_" Satine blurted out. "...I feel like dancing!" Shortly after, those yipping yowls of hers were filling the air of the elephant, and I couldn't help but slowly raise my head out from behind the table to see what she was doing.   
  
She'd grasped hold of the lacey extensions of her negligee and was twirling them about herself as she danced across the floor.   
  
The Duke and I both stared at her in shocked silence.   
  
"Don't you feel like dancing?" She questioned as she performed a three-sixty on her heel.   
  
"...My dear," The Duke attempted to speak over her shouts. "I should like a glass of champagne --" With that, he turned back toward me, a motion that I noticed a hair too late. Attempting to drop back down under the table, it was Satine's distracting voice that saved me from being seen.   
  
"No!" She shrilly interjected again, causing the Duke to pull to a shaky halt. "...It's a little bit funny!"   
  
That seemed to have the Duke confused and he leaned forward to view her, as if genuinely confused. "What is?"   
  
"This feeling," She stammered out before falling silent. I realized she was attempting to recite my poetry, yet had forgotten it along the way. Casting a cautious glance up on the Duke, I rose from my hiding place again, mouthing the next line to her while pointing at myself in emphasis.   
  
She fixed her gaze on me, studying my words before blurting out. "I-inside!" Furrowing her brow, she continued to stare at me, attempting to determine what it was I was pantomiming. "...I'm not one of those who can easily..."   
  
I covered my eyes, a motion that she quickly responded to with: "...hide!"   
  
Unfortunately, the motion of bringing my hands up had brought my elbow into a collision with the side of the table, causing the metallic trays on top of it to rattle audibly. I dropped my head back under it just as the Duke turned to look toward me.   
  
Again, it was Satine that saved me from being spotted. "No!" She shouted, springing forward in one motion and dropping to the ground, raveling thin arms about the Duke's legs.   
  
Taking that distraction as my cue, I slowly crawled out from behind the table, maneuvering myself directly behind the Duke as Satine kept him... distracted.   
  
"I don't have much money, but, _oooh_, if I did," She purred, hands wandering slightly up the front of the Duke's legs in a way that was nearly as distracting to me as it was to him. The only difference was that his distraction was caused by arousal whereas my distraction was caused by repulsion. "I'd buy a big house where we both could live."   
  
In one motion, Satine pushed her hands between the Duke's knees, prying them apart to look at me from between them. The Duke gave a strangled moan in response to the motion, one that made me cringe, frowning at Satine. She made a sharp gesture with her hand toward the door behind me prior to pushing the Duke's knees forcefully closed again.   
  
I turned slightly to glance toward the door, nodding in understanding. She'd keep the Duke distracted while I made a getaway. I didn't necessarily like that idea -- leaving her with the slimy rodent of a man, but I didn't exactly have a choice.   
  
"..._I hope you don't mind_," It was Satine, that lovely soprano voice of hers repeating the lyrics I had improvised merely minutes earlier perfectly. She was carefully maneuvering herself into a standing position in front of the Duke, but was making certain with strategic strokes of her hands up his body that his gaze never moved from her during the movement.   
  
"_I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words_..." She continued. It was something of a struggle to not lose myself into the beauty of her voice as I rose simultaneously to her, leaving the Duke pinned between our standing frames.   
  
"..._how wonderful life is, now you're in the world_," Satine concluded, slim hands easing up to either side of the Duke's face.   
  
The Duke himself was as stunned as I was, though he managed to find his voice when I could only stare at her in awe. "...that's very beautiful."   
  
Only then did I note that Satine's left hand (which was still positioned nearly against the Duke's face) was motioning me toward the door.   
  
Nodding just slightly, I turned and began to tiptoe for the door as she spoke in that sultry undertone of hers to the Duke. "It's from _Spectacular, Spectacular_. Suddenly, with you here, I finally knew the true meaning of those words."   
  
I reached the door and cast a reluctant glance back on her and the Duke, fingers raveling about the handle with which I could pull the barrier open. The last thing I wanted right then was to leave her there with _that_ man.   
  
"How wonderful life is now you're in the world," She completed, casting a glance in my direction. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if she was speaking to the Duke or me but was given little time to entertain the notion. Turning, I pulled the door open slowly, if only to prevent any creaks from the hinges.   
  
Over my shoulder, I heard the Duke's voice quietly questioning Satine. "...and what meaning is that, my dear?"   
  
I'd hesitated to risk a longing glance back on Satine and the Duke, something that I learned I shouldn't have done if only for the dropping sensation the view of them together like that caused my stomach to perform. I was still contemplating that when I began to maneuver myself out of the opened door only to bring myself to a sudden halt.   
  
Standing on the other side of the door (with his back fortunately to me), a short, fat man with a bald head was stationed, undoubtedly awaiting the Duke's exit. I somehow restrained the strangled gasp I gave in startled surprise, back-peddling into the room again, slamming the door closed in my haste.   
  
I didn't realize until I'd already performed the act that the sound of the door slamming would alert the Duke to my presence. Stiffening, I threw myself into a corner, covering my head with my hands as if the action of preventing the Duke from seeing my face would keep him from seeing me altogether.   
  
I'd lost count of how many times Satine saved me by then, but she pulled through again, this time by giving a strangled cry out and tossing herself onto the bed in a heap. "Duke!" She exclaimed, pointing a finger at him, something that made him freeze -- forgetting about me all over again. Cautiously, I lowered my hands, pushing myself out of the corner. "Don't you toy with my emotions!"   
  
Sniffling, she began to feign a sob. The Duke fell for it, however, and moved forward as she continued. "...you must know the effect you have on women!"   
  
The Duke was apparently impressed and flattered by that statement, venturing to offer her something of what I assumed to be a fake-modest smile. That smile faded, however, when Satine leaned forward and jerked him down onto the bed with her. "...let's make love! You want to make loved, don't you?"   
  
I frowned. I'd been stepping gradually across the room toward the window (earlier, I noted the fact that there was a small staircase that attached to it -- one that I could only assume that led to the top of the elephant where I'd be safe until the Duke left) when she'd made that suggestion, one that caused me to halt, wounded. Only minutes before, she'd claimed to love me, and there she was, offering herself to a different man she didn't even know.   
  
I stared, frowning at her, something that, upon noting, she rolled her eyes at, using one hand to guide the Duke's head to her neck while waving me toward the window with the other, mouthing the word "Go!". Half a second later, she turned a grin on the Duke, calling out. "Oh, oh, Duke!"   
  
I tried to obey her order for me to leave, I truly did. I even managed to get a whole two steps toward the stairs before I pulled to a halt again, turning on my heel to glance back on her, tangled up with the Duke. The sight itself made my heart ache. I couldn't leave her there, and I made that evident when, midst the wrestling between them, she risked me a glance over the Duke's shoulder. It took but a single stare of longing from me before she crumbled, an action that made me believe even more so that she'd been speaking the truth when she -- as Satine, not the Duke's Sparkling Diamond -- said she loved me.   
  
"-- Y-yes, you're right!" She breathed over the Duke's mumbled words into her neck. Satine maneuvered her hands up and under his chest, firmly pushing him back and off of her. "We should wait! Until opening night!"   
  
The Duke didn't seem to be exactly thrilled by her decision. I didn't get the time to relish in his facial expression, unfortunately, being that when he rose, I was directly in his line of sight, and had to duck into the gilded staircase that led to the top of the elephant. "Wait -- wait?"   
  
I leaned into the staircase slightly, straining to hear the conversation from the other room.   
  
"There's a power in you that scares me... you should go!" It was Satine again, and by the sound of her voice, she was already leading the man toward the door.   
  
"Go? But I just got here!" I couldn't help but bite a smirk back at the Duke's vain rebuttal.   
  
"Oh, yes, but we'll see each other every day during rehearsal!" It was Satine again. "We must wait, we must wait until opening night! Now get out!"   
  
I peeked my head 'round the corner of the staircase just in time to get a glimpse of the Duke's backside as Satine shoved his cane into his hands and forced him out the door, slamming it behind him.   
  
Carefully, I eased my way down the narrow set of stairs, stepping back into the elephant as I turned attentive hues to her. She whirled on me in a flash, falling into stride for me.   
  
"Do you have _any_ idea -- _any idea_ --" She exclaimed, her voice coming out a high-pitched, strangled half-whisper as she made her way toward me. I briefly thought on the strange tone, but was given little time to do so before she continued. "...what would have happened if you'd been found?"   
  
Her last words fell almost silent as she wavered noticeably on her feet, head tipping back in much of the same manner it had while she was on the trapeze. Lips turning downward gradually in concern, I took a reluctant step toward her, reaching a hand in her direction.   
  
"...S-Satine?" I'd barely stammered the word out before she fell forward, slouching limp and unconscious into my arms, leaving me to cradle her to my chest in confused silence. 


	8. The Pitch

"Satine?" I demanded a little more forcefully, shaking her slightly. She still didn't budge. Rather, she remained limp, tangled in my arms, head tilted back.   
  
Scrambling, I turned on a heel to glance about the room over her shoulder, at a loss for what to do. "..I'll -- I'll put you in bed, that's what I'll do," I murmured, as if she could hear me. Hefting her slight weight up so that her legs didn't drag the floor, I awkwardly tried to pull her toward the bed, something that inevitably ended in her falling backward onto it and me landing on top of her with a grunt.   
  
I was temporarily stunned at being so close to her and had occupied myself with fixing a concerned stare on her motionless features when my reverie was broken by the sound of the door opening. Only after I saw the figure entering did I realize how bad it might have looked to anyone who walked in to see me settled atop the unconscious woman in the way that I was, and I was attempting to untangle myself from her when the worst possible voice for me to have heard made itself audible.   
  
"-- I forgot my hat," It was the nasal, high-pitched tone that could belong only to the Duke. I stiffened and tilted my head toward the door, making direct eye contact with him for the first time, something he instantly responded to with a frown. "...Foul play?"   
  
Obviously, he was referring to my position over the still-motionless Satine. My jaw fell, my vocal cords pinching. For a fleeting few seconds, all I could do was gape at him, wide-eyed while I shook my head, pointing slightly at her. "..N-no, she --"   
  
At that instant, Satine shifted, those beautiful blue eyes fluttering dizzily as she seemingly attempted to catch up on what had occurred. She gave me a slightly confused stare (again, most likely in response to the way we were lying) but (thankfully) chose to make nothing of it, instead diverting her attention to the outraged-looking Duke. "...Oh, Duke."   
  
His features were rapidly contorting into an angered frown, and he maneuvered inside completely, allowing the door to fall closed. " 'It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside'?" He quoted, disgust dripping from his voice.   
  
For all my creative ingenuity, I was still stumped on what to do about the situation. I felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar; one that was so surprised that he was caught, at that, that he couldn't quite bring himself to let go of the cookie as he stared in silence at his mother.   
  
Fortunately, Satine wasn't quite as stunned as I was. "Beautifully spoken, Duke," She complimented, reaching upward to catch my face between her palms. She tilted my head with a surprising amount of gentleness (or that might have been because she was still struggling to catch her breath) toward the Duke, as if presenting me. "...Yes, let me introduce you to the writer."   
  
"The _writer_?" The Duke all but exclaimed, turning a scrutinizing glare down on me.   
  
"Yes, we were --" As if Satine only then realized the position we were in, she used her hold on my head to ease me off of her, something to which I promptly responded, scrambling to let her up and attempt to straighten my clothes to a certain degree (being that they were tousled from her advances on me during the poetry reading). "...we were rehearsing!" Satine concluded.   
  
It sounded plausible enough to me. I offered the Duke a weak smile in reassurance.   
  
Again, he seemed far from convinced. In fact, he burst out laughing with an obnoxious, strained trio of chortles. "You expect me to believe that scantily-clad, in the arms of another man, in the middle of the night, inside an elephant, you were _rehearsing_?"   
  
"How's the rehearsal going?" A voice shouted from behind the three of us, causing us all to rotate as one. The voice belonged to Toulouse, the dwarfed Bohemian, and he was steadily making his way through the heart-shaped window and toward us. The other three Bohemians were hot on his heels. "Shall we take it from the top, eh, my queen?"   
  
As relieved as I was, I couldn't help but stare at the parade of Bohemians as they rushed in. My first night in Montmartre and I already had enough material to write ten novels.   
  
"I hope the piano's in tune!" Satie exclaimed as he brushed past us all and toward a beaten down piano that was situated against the far wall to the left of the main door. He slammed his hands down on the keys, something that brought up a foul chord in response.   
  
"Can I offer you a drink?" It was the doctor's voice. During the time we'd been distracted with Satie, he'd maneuvered himself up alongside the Duke and was attempting to push a half-full bottle of Absinthe into the horrified man's hands.   
  
Satine seemed to have attained her composure throughout it all (something of an accomplishment, considering I was still gawking as wide-eyed at the Bohemians as the Duke was) and spoke up. "W-when I spoke those words to you before, you filled me with such inspiration. Yes, I realized how much work we had to do before tomorrow, so I called everyone together for an emergency rehearsal!"   
  
At first, it seemed as though the Duke was going to fall for it. He was apparently a little smarter than he seemed, however, being that he rolled back on his heels to fix us all with scrutinizing glances, a snide smirk curling his lips. "If you're rehearsing, where's Zidler?"   
  
Satine was prompt to respond with an offhanded wave. "Oh, no, we didn't bother Harold..."   
  
And as if cued by his name, the front door burst open, allowing for the hasty entrance of the previously mentioned Zidler who was practically stumbling over himself to apologize to the Duke. "My dear Duke, I'm most terribly sorry!"   
  
"Harold!" Satine all but cried out to insure she had the large man's attention before the Duke could question him. She practically threw herself forward toward her employer, speaking as she did so. "You made it! It's quite all right," She went on to reassure. "The Duke knows all about the _emergency rehearsal_."   
  
Obviously taking note of the emphasis she put on the last two words in her sentence, Harold leaned slightly toward Satine, giving a questioning glance about the crowded room. "...emergency rehearsal?"   
  
"Mmhm," Satine purred, twisting on a heel to direct a wave of her hand toward the Duke. "To incorporate the Duke's...artistic ideas." The Duke seemed flattered, a bonus to Satine's act.   
  
Harold was still confused, and that much was apparent by the way he was glancing between all of us, trying to find answers to the questions he was (thankfully) keeping silent. "...Yes, well, I'm sure Audrey will be --"   
  
Cutting him off, Toulouse who had stationed himself beside me, chirped in rather suddenly. "Audrey's left!"   
  
"Left?!" Harold gasped in something akin to horror.   
  
"Harold, the cat's out of the bag!" Satine exclaimed, only furthering my respect for her. She certainly did know how to handle a crisis. "The Duke's already a big fan of our new writer's work," She provided a minute gesture of the hand in my direction, most likely to fill Harold in as she continued. "That's why he's so keen to _invest_..."   
  
"Invest?" Harold echoed, gaze turning between Satine, the Duke, and me once before his features lit up in realization. "...Invest! Oh, yes, well, invest! You can hardly blame me for trying to hide our young..." His voice trailed off as he gestured toward me, searching for a name.   
  
I opened my mouth to respond, attempting the subtle approach of mouthing it to him, only to be cut off by Toulouse. "Christian," he provided.   
  
"-- Christian away." Zidler finished.   
  
"...I'm way ahead of you, Zidler," The Duke finally chose to speak, the certainty in his voice making my heart sink.   
  
Unphased, Zidler offered what I could only assume to be a fake smile to the Duke, reaching toward him as if to direct him out the door. "My dear Duke, why don't you and I go into my office and peruse the paperwork, mm?"   
  
The Duke set that notion aside quickly with one question we all seemed to have been dreading. "What's the story?"   
  
Zidler hesitated, obviously cornered. "Oh, yes, well... The story's about...Toulouse?" His gaze turned on the dwarfed Bohemian.   
  
Toulouse was quick to recoil, almost bumping into me in his haste, eyes widening. "The story's about...the story's about...it's about, um..."   
  
If I were to be the writer, I figured that I should at least play the role of one and create the story as I was supposed to. Shifting slightly on my heel, I considered prior to blurting out. "Love! It's about love!" Toulouse seemed relieved.   
  
For the first time since his entrance into the room, the Duke turned toward me, those ugly, blonde brows quirking. "_Love_?"   
  
I nodded slightly, scrambling mentally as I tried to piece together a story. "It's about love," I reiterated, my attention sweeping to Satine. "...overcoming all obstacles."   
  
"And it's set in Switzerland!" Toulouse exclaimed energetically, jumping onto the bandwagon of my creation.   
  
"Switzerland?!" The Duke seemed horrified at the ridiculous location and turned on Zidler, frowning.   
  
"Exotic Switzerland!" Harold corrected hastily.   
  
The Duke still didn't seem too thrilled with the idea and I glanced frantically about the room until I located a statue of an elephant. "India! India! It's set in India!"   
  
All eyes riveted back to me at my shout, waiting for more. Hesitating, I took in a deep breath, still stumbling over storyline ideas, eventually deciding on the most obvious. Gently, my gaze settled on Satine, tracing her features in thought before I began to speak. "...and there's a courtesan; the most beautiful courtesan in all the world."   
  
It took a great deal of effort on my part to look away, almost hypnotized by her features, but when I did so, I was struck with the fact that for the play to be any good, we'd need a villain. Fortunately, I had inspiration right in front of me.   
  
Turning on the Duke, I continued. "...but her kingdom's invaded by an _evil_ maharajah." The Duke seemed to buy it and was interested, so I went on. "Now, to save her kingdom, she has to seduce the maharajah but... on the night of the seduction, she mistakes a penniless w --" I had begun to motion to myself but thought better of it, stammering. A single glance sidelong brought a sitar into my line of sight and I lurched, plucking the stringed instrument up in emphasis. "...a penniless sitar player for the evil maharajah and falls in love with _him_."   
  
Suddenly, I realized just how obvious this had to be becoming to the silent Satine and I performed a half-pivote toward her, shaking my head in emphasis, deciding it best to utilize the opportunity and explain my own motives as I explained the penniless sitar player's. "He..,he wasn't trying to trick her or anything. But...he was dressed up as a maharajah because --" I hesitated there, glancing downward to the sitar that still remained within my grip. "-- He's appearing in a play!"   
  
My list of ideas were growing thin and it was with a particular amount of relief that at that precise instant, the Narcoleptic Argentinean interrupted me, reaching to jerk the sitar from my hands as he spoke. "And _I_ will play the penniless, tango-dancing sitar player!" The Argentinean lowered a hand to strum a foul chord on the stringed for emphasis. "Who sings like an _angel_…but dances like the devil!"   
  
The Duke seemed thoroughly caught up in the productions improvised storyline by this time and spoke up again in excited-curiousity. "...And -- and what happens next?"   
  
Tightening my brow in consideration, a minute wave of my palm was given, indicating Satine and the Argentinean. "Well, the sitar-player and courtesan...they have to hide their love from the evil maharajah."   
  
As if she was already playing the part, I noted Satine turning away from the Argentinean over-dramatically. The Duke seemed to only buy it more with the actors actually acting, but I couldn't help but flash her an amused smile.   
  
My watching of her was interrupted rather suddenly, however, by the quickened voice of Satie, speaking over the excited group of Bohemians. "The sitar-player's sitar is magical! It can only speak the truth!"   
  
"...And _I_ will play the magical sitar!" Toulouse chimed in with that over-eager lisp of his, reaching to take the instrument from the Argentinean and tuck it length-wise in front of him as if he was the instrument itself, standing upright. A dwarfed hand was raised, and after plucking a single string, he turned on Satine and stated 'the truth.' "You are beautiful."   
  
A moment later, Toulouse turned on Harold and again plucked a note ( though this time, a lower one ) and stated bluntly. "You are ugly." Then, he began to turn on the Duke.   
  
I must admit I was slightly over-zealous to hear what the 'sitar' was going to tell the Duke and was unfortunately disappointed when everyone ( myself and the Duke excluded ) leaped to cover Toulouse mouth, the words "And you are…" fading against everyone's palm.   
  
The Duke was unphased and merely scooted back on his heels from the group of Bohemians crowded around the dwarf. "And he gives the game away!"   
  
Harold interrupted our encouraging nods to the Duke with a sudden order in my direction. "Tell him about the can-can!"   
  
The can-can? My features must have expressed my confusion, and I stumbled mentally for a moment, attempting to fit a can-can into my otherwise dramatic play. "...Th-the..._tantric_ can-can..."   
  
Much to my relief, Zidler took over, leaning close toward the Duke as me, Satine, and the Bohemians clustered together, listening.   
  
"It's an _erotic_, spectacular scene," Harold provided over-energetically. "...that captures the thrusting, violent, vibrant, _wild_ Bohemian spirit that this whole production imbodies, Duke!"   
  
The Duke jumped backward slightly at a wavering of Harold's rather-large arms, blinking blankly as if he was uncertain as to if he should be intimidated or not. After a beat, he inquired timidly. "...and what do you mean by that?"   
  
Harold was prompt in responding again, raising his voice even more, if it was possible. "The show will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan bedazzlement..." I was beginning to wonder how many more adjectives he could string together without demolishing the sentence, and was slightly taken aback as he continued. "...a _sensual_ ravishment. It will be... _Spectacular, Spectacular_! -- No words in the vernacular can describe this great event..." Leaning toward the Duke slightly, he raised his hands, as if painting the scene. "You'll be dumb with wonderment. Returns are fixed at ten percent; you must agree, that's excellent. And on top of your fee..."   
  
Finally chiming in, the rest of us slid forward carefully, pulling into alignment beside Harold as he stepped backward, all of us simultaneously saying. "_You'll be involved artistically_."   
  
How we kept together through lyric and tempo changes, I'll never know, but Zidler, myself, Satine, and the Bohemians sang and performed, creating an improvised commercial of sorts. It was only when the Duke interjected to question us as to what the ending was did we hesitate, the Bohemians retreating behind a make-shift curtain we'd created with one of Satine's fur blankets.   
  
I had followed them until the Argentinean had forced me outside while they made costumes, leaving me to blankly stare at the Duke for a moment, clearing my throat. Then, I stepped aside, cueing the opening of the curtains.   
  
"_The courtesan and sitar-man_," Only as I began to sing did I chance attention backward to see that the Argentinean and Satine ( both sporting their best make-shift Indian outfits ) were dramatically acting out my words. "_...are pulled apart by an evil plan_."   
  
I was delighted to hear Satine's soft soprano take over there, adding her own artistic touch to the story. "_But in the end, she hears his song..._"   
  
"_...and their love is just too strong_." I completed for her, giving her a meaningful look that she actually returned.   
  
Unfortunately, I was left to consider that matter for a very short time, being that the Duke interrupted with his nasal voice, squeaking out what his idea of the courtesan and sitar-player's song would be. "_It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside..._"   
  
Perhaps it was the disgustingly nasal tone that left us all in temporary shock, but it took us a few moments of silent staring to gather our wits and finish our song with a flourishing pose, waiting in apprehensive silence as the Duke regarded us all.   
  
Then, with a slight smile curving those rodentine features, he breathed the words we'd all been waiting on. "Well...generally, I like it."   
  
--[ Out of Character ]--   
  
Many apologies for disturbing your reading here, but I find I must include this portion.   
  
So, it took me a long time to get going again. Judging by the fact that I've only received one review since April, I can only guess the 'fic wasn't missed, however, so that's all right. I'm going to finish it -- albeit at my own, lethargic pace and I'm going to do it for a sense of closure.   
  
Why, you wonder, did I take so long to put out the next chapter?   
  
I hit some major problems of the family sort, then someone very important to me suddenly disappeared after penning a nasty e-mail to me. I was rather devastated and, after loafing around for a while and avoiding signing on, got rid of my internet connection, deciding that I didn't want to cope with the pain of it and that I needed the pocket money.   
  
Imagine my surprise when, idly scrolling through the fanfics between classes at the library, I located a 'fic recently updated by the aforementioned missing person.   
  
The sister 'fic to this one -- just under a different author's name.   
  
Now, I don't know what happened or why between that author and myself, but reading the completion of that 'fic stirred something in me along with the pain. I wanted to finish my own. So, here you have it.   
  
I won't be reading reviews most likely, so if you don't want to bother -- don't. Remember, I'm lacking the internet access. I posted this from a friend's computer after typing it out.   
  
If you truly want to get word out to me on how good ( or bad ) my 'fic is, drop a line to the following e-mail address:   
  
ioliipopx@aol.com   
  
She has agreed to pass on any pertinent reviews to me in person until I finish the work. After it's complete, I ask that any reviewers simply post it on fanfiction.net. Who knows…I might get my own internet again after college.   
  
It's certainly been an…experience writing this 'fic and I appreciate what few reviews and fans I attained in its writing.   
  
Sincerely and out, NotQuiteShakespeare a.k.a. Brad 


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